You Can See Through Your Own Tears
by IcyDrummer
Summary: Dick knew that Bruce going to an unsteady country, even for a business trip, was a bad idea. But the what happened was on the trip was worse. One-shot for swirlheary23. Father son fluff.
1. Chapter 1

**So this is my one-shot that I promised swirlhearty23 for the "Guess The Title Game". Scrambling to get it done before we leave for church, so apologies for typos. **

**Anyway, I hope you swirl! (And everyone else who reads this!)**

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><p><strong>Through Your Own Tears<strong>

**Gotham**

**May 23, 14:50 EDT**

Dick's hands were sweaty and stiff. The words of the telephone call only moments previous still wrung in his ears. He knew, from the first word that Alfred said, that the Brit carried bad news, and this was the worst.

_"Sup?"_

_ "Master Richard? Oh, young master, I'm so sorry."_

_ "Bout what Alfred?"_

_ "I'm so sorry sir, but Master Bruce has been shot in the chest."_

Training was over, clothes changed, and eyes wiped repeatedly as he sat in the back of Bruce's Hummer to meet Bruce at the airport and then to the hospital. He knew going to Paraguay was a bad idea, especially during the revolts. Americans, and citizens of countries all over the world for that, were scrambling like eggs to get the heck out of there. Even it's own people were leaving tripping the borders. But no, Bruce had to go to make sure that Wayne Tech's extension in the hostile country was running. He even planned on using his wealthy, American status to save some lives. But now his hung in the balance.

"How much longer Alfred?" the words barely escaped his still tightening throat.

"Twenty-six minutes, young Master." the ever calm Butler replied.

Dick rolled his eyes anxiously out the window. His distant gaze passed over the scenery with ease, and his cloudy blue, wet eyes could barely focus. Biting his lower lips, his eyes dropped in search of something that they could focus on. The back of the seats, the other windows, his own lap, nothing was satisfying.

His hands were clammy, and he wished to wipe them on his tight, black jeans, but moving, even in the slightest, was a difficult chore. That kind of rush, mixed with the sad, dreaded emotions of loss rendered one motionless, made your muscles tense to the point where even flexing a finger was torturous. You could move, but by the power of sorrow that entangled your body, you didn't want to.

The boy felt his throat close again, and all he could muster was an honest gulp. Even now, though more of the effect would take its effect later on, he felt like he was experiencing a dream as his thoughts smoothy and effortlessly drifted, only to be violently aggravated by his glancing at the motionless clock several times a minute.

Staring at an unusual speck on the usually perfect window of the Hummer, his thoughts, though more like visions, began to doubt himself. _Bruce was gonna be okay, he had to be. He has stuff to take of here. Who was going to keep Alfred busy with new messes, who was going to run Wayne Labs, and who was going to keep the city safe. _

"Alfred," Dick squeaked, but soon swallowed and forced himself to say it again, this time capturing the Butler's distant attention.

"Eighteen minutes sir. Shan't be long now till we arrive."

"Floor it," came Dick's modest request. He felt the car speed up, though slightly, it pushed his head back into his seat, his body into numbness coma, and his soul into more agony. As as the Hummer changed lanes, his thoughts drifted to Wayne Manor.

His conscious became a movie, and his soul the projector. He watched his life go about him, memories like silent movies, unable to portray any sort of emotion, only action. And that too was dimming.

His mystical eyes watched Alfred answer a phone, and his ears heard more news of Bruce.

"Master Richard, the plane landed early, Master Bruce is already on his way to the hospital."

"Go there then. We'll catch him before surgery."

"Afraid that won't be possible. Due to his deteriorating condition, he was placed under medical induced coma."

"I have to see him!" the boy choked.

"And you can Master Richard, we were granted immediate access as soon as the operation is complete."

Dick again studied the speck on his window. That speck and him had created a supernatural bond. He could think clearly when looking at it. "He'll be okay," the child muttered.

"I certainly hope so," Alfred responded as he, again, changed lanes.

"You don't agree," Dick accused.

"Well, if I may Master Richard, he certainly isn't hanging to life for me. It's his family that he needs, it's them that Master Bruce is clinging to life for. And, if I may be so bold, you, Master Richard, but step forward and become that family."

Alfred's words sent Dick tumbling down a the path of a new perspective. He always thought that Bruce's "emotionally but not officially son" jokes were just that, jokes. The child never imagined that his mentor was really begging him to adopt the Wayne name officially. Yeah, Bruce felt like Dick's father, but the child took those feelings as understood and mutual.

Soon, but not soon enough, they arrived at the hospital. The sight of the large, white building gave Dick enough strength to force his body into motion as he threw himself out of the car and raced through the front doors.

"Bruce Wayne," Dick said to the receptionist.

"Excuse me?" the sweet red-head replied.

"Which room was Bruce Wayne taken to, and has he come out of surgery?" Dick repeated quietly, knowing that the Bruce wouldn't want the public to know the news at the lips of his fostered son, assuming that they didn't already.

"Oh, one moment please...," she fingers pounded on her keyboard before looking back up. "He was checked into the ER immediately after his arrival, and..." more typing, "he is still in surgery."

"Thanks," Dick cautiously pounded the desk as he watched Alfred grab his small shoulder. Alfred escorted Dick toward the waiting room that was nearest to the ER.

Dick's mind, now fully conscious with the reality of his surroundings, prepared himself for the sight that was awaiting him. His mind was filled with dramatic images of hospital beds, surgeries, and flashing lights. The twisting and turning rapid motions of the camera made him dizzy, but he was snapped out if it by Alfred's hesitant hand on his shoulder.

"Master Richard," the man subtly warned Dick of upcoming company.

Looking up, Dick's blue eyes watched the doctor walk toward them. "Richard Wayne?"

"Yes," the child readily responded to the name that he would normally have mocked and corrected.

The doctor lead the two through the intricate, white hallways of the hospital. Dick, who was in a fog, told himself that he would have been easily lost in the labyrinth. Tenderly knocking on the door, Dick's head began to spin with anxious excitement. The lump in his throat would have convinced him to turn away, but Alfred's words prompted other actions.

Sure enough, Bruce was laying on a hospital bed with a thin tube running across his face. His usually combed hair was messed up, and his eyes were closed in deep, drugged slumber.

Dick felt all the emotions of Alfred's words mix with the tradegy of his parents as he beckoned the butler and doctor to leave him.

Slowly walking to Bruce's side, the child laid a tiny, trembling hand on the bed rail, afraid that if he even touched Bruce, that the man's restful balance would be interrupted.

Staring at the floor with his washy, blue eyes, Dick raised them to face the reality that slept before him. Time stopped, his soul ached, and his heart cried for pity, begging Dick to release his feelings that tore at his heart's strings.

Collapsing down, his knees gave way, and his forehead rested on his placed hands. His chest suffered from his short, sporadic breathes, as he heart cried for more, only to receive more tears from the boy's very soul.

Sobbing, a young Richard Grayson thanked God for his life, his happiness, and his father. On his knees, his elbows pinning him over that side of a hospital bed, Dick prayed harder than he ever had before. His soul wept with tears for his parents, and his heart pleaded for the life of his of .


	2. Chapter 2

**I decided to continue this for swirlhearty23's birthday. A little, okay a lot, late, but better late than never! Enjoy Swirl and Happy Birthday!**

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><p><em><strong>Pt. II<strong>_

"You didn't know?"

** This just in-**

"There must have been some sort of translation error then."

-**Gotham City's very own billionaire, Bruce Wayne-**

"He sustained more than a shot in the chest..."

**-has been shot in the head during his business trip to...-**

"I'm sorry Master Richard but..."

**Along with other injuries, including several bullets to the chest-**

"I'm so"

**the attack was captured on this amateur video footage...-**

" so sorry."

**-doctors say that Wayne's condition is only getting worse...**

**. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  
><strong>

"Master Richard...?"

**And to update you on the condition of Gotham City's Bruce Wayne-**

"Master Richard, the doctor said-"

** -Wayne is expected to return home, for the first time, today-**

"Really?"

**-doctors are now telling us that after a tremendous recovery after...-**

"Yes, I am quite certain."

**-Bruce Wayne is on his way home.**

"Let's go!"

**-Our prayers are with him and the entire Wayne family.**

**. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  
><strong>

**Gotham**

**September , 3:56 EDT**

Dick sat on the couch, his cloudy, tired blue eyes grazing over the TV. It was so good to be home, where your butler could make good food, where you could sleep in your own bed, where everything is normal. So normal, in fact, that the child almost didn't believe what was on the news. Bruce Wayne wasn't shot, he was home, he was fine. Well Dick wanted to believe that, more than anything. Bruce was Batman, the Dark Knight, the World's Greatest Detective, he was to good to be hit by a few bullets. Far too good.

Dick stood and drowsily walked over to the door as a quiet, almost timid, knock was heard on it. The house was quiet, Bruce needed his rest. Dick played his WayneBoy® with his headphones, and watched TV with the volume no more than 20, which was barely breaking audible. He didn't speak, and Alfred didn't reply. Meals were both cooked and eaten delicately, and the family moved about their business near noiselessly.

Even the door felt like it was holding back any creak that it might have given while Dick opened it. "Hey Wally. I thought you were headed out of town?" he asked as he welcomed the speedster in.

"Well I am, but I decided to stop by for a few minutes before we leave," Wally gently replied, "You doin' okay?" he asked his friend who was again sitting on the couch.

"I'm okay, quiet, but okay," he softly replied almost praying that Wally could see through his lie.

"Oh, Master Richard do you believe it is wise to have guests?" Alfred asked Dick after greeting Wally, who waved a silent hand to say hello to the Brit.

"It's fine Alfred," Dick said through immaturely clenched teeth, indicating that he wished to be alone. Once Alfred left to cook Wally the cheese-steak that the speedster requested, Dick asked him a question that had been bugging the child. "Wally," he hesitantly began, "am I family?"

"Like mine?" Wally replied, leaning his elbows on the back of the couch.

"Well, I mean do I feel like family to you?" Dick eagerly clarified.

"Sure, I guess. Why?" Wally had many theories as to why his friend was asking him such questions, but he maturely decided to wait, and let Dick speak for himself. And the child did.

"Well, Alfred said that Bruce needs a family right now, and that I'm not doing a very good job at being it for him. But, I just always thought that the whole father-son thing was mutual," he pieced together.

"Really? Why'd Alfred say that?"

"I don't know," standing, Dick began to pace around the low table that decorated the center of the room. "I just thought it was."

"Well introducing yourself as 'Richard Grayson, fostered son of Bruce Wayne' kinda' speaks differently," Wally tried. He was no expert on anything outside a lab, and he would never claim to be one, but he was going to help Dick through this time anyway he could.

"You think that that's what all this is about? The adoption was never finalized, so I'm legally not a Wayne, so I introduce myself as his fostered child," Dick's slow, mourning mind was hurting with all the sudden thoughts and ideas. It hadn't had any excitement in several weeks, and since Batman was in charge of initiating the team's orders, he couldn't get his adrenaline through his suit.

"I doubt it, but..," Wally paused. He could clearly see the logic behind his friend's introduction and he was pretty sure that that's not what this was about. "What do you think it is? I mean, what else did Alfred say?"

"Not much. It's just, if Bruce needs a me, then I want to be there. And if he needs a family, then I'll be that family," Dick's words were choked with sincerity. "But, what does that look like? How am I supposed to know what that looks like?"

Wally could feel Dick's confusion and uselessness oozing off him. Finally, Wally decided that his friend needed to be hugged, especially since the child had no one else to cry into. Standing, Wally wrapped his muscular arms tightly around Dick as he trembled. "It's okay dude, you'll figure it out. It'll be okay."

Dick felt Wally's brotherly-love for him in the secure bear-hug, and even though he was breaking the delicate lines of bromance, the tears were overwhelming, and Dick let them fall.

A few days later, Dick walked into the large, ghostly mansion after another mediocre day at school. Traveling up the steps to the elaborate Manor door only moments earlier, he was angered by the severe lack in warmest wishes and prayers for Bruce, only days after the millionaire had returned home.

_People don't care anymore_, he told himself as he dropped his back-pack on the floor. Sighing, he absorbed he raw, stale emotions of the Manor as he inhaled, and let all the feelings of want, desire, and hope escape him as he exhaled. The good, happy thoughts were forever lost in the labyrinth of the mansion.

"Welcome home Master Richard," the Butler greeted the child warmly. The old man was the only thing in the house that appeared to be living, aside from Dick's atrium.

Escaping to his room, Dick lazily collapsed on his large bed. He lay there, wishing that things could be normal, praying that he had enough strength to make that happen.

But until then, he would sleep. Maybe, just maybe, when he awoke Bruce would be better, happy, and the team could actually go out and do some co-op goodness. But the chances of that looked bleak, and only got worse every moment.

Sure he had gone to the cave and tried to act normal around his team, but really how could he? He wanted to stay there, even if he had nothing to do, he wanted to be with his very much alive and healthy friends. But his custom was was to return home often, and he had to maintain a strong, normal face.

Bruce was recovering, at an astounding rate if you asked the doctors, but Batman couldn't come quick enough for Dick.

The child thought. Was that really all that he cared about? All that he wanted; Batman? Did he even care for Bruce, or was it the cowl that the child really prayed for? Slipping off his bed, he knelt beside it, folding his hands before his cloudy blue eyes.

He sat there, in the position that his first father taught him, but it had been so long that Dick nearly forgot what to say.

Studying his bedspread intently, the child's soul was heavy burdened, and his heart pleaded for freedom from the antagonizing question; who did Richard Grayson really love, and whom did his care and affection truly belong? His head was speechless, despite his heart's desperate grasping for words.

Dick's body grew numb in the pose, as he felt his soul had. His head, heart, and soul were all still and breathless, awaiting to see what Dick was going to do. Even if he cared for Batman, it was merely a costume, a mask. Loving the man who had pity on a lost, senseless, and hurt boy was what he, as a human, should care about, not a mask.

It was wrong, and it had to change. And he had to change it. No one could change Dick, he knew that, thus he had the power to commit himself to to start the family bonds that Bruce so desperately needed. He was but a boy, so he would start small, but as to where to place his foot still alluded him.

Then dinner came.

Dinner, like how it had been for weeks, was quiet as Dick and Alfred ate in somber silence.

"Master Richard, I've heard that your class in going on a scientific excursion tomorrow," the Brit said between bites.

"Yeah, we're going to some aquarium for biology," Dick quickly explained, his deep thought actually making him say more than he would have.

After a few minutes, Alfred began again, "And, like most educational excursions, doesn't one require a parent's signature in order to attend such activities?"

…...

After dinner and before bed, Dick made his way toward Bruce's room, where the man of the house would be.

"Hello?" he hesitantly asked after timidly knocking on Bruce's solid wood door.

"Hey kid," Bruce wearily said, his voice weak and hoarse.

"Am I disturbing you?" the child asked, forcing a nervous swallow.

"No, not at all," Bruce tried to sit up, but the wound in his chest still hurt him though, and Dick easily forced him back down. "So, what's up?" the man coughed.

Dick was almost jerked to tears while listening to Bruce's cough. This was the first time that the child had visited his father since they returned home, and he wished that he had done it far sooner, for Bruce's sake.

"Don't worry, I'm not contagious." Bruce quipped, mustering a weak smile at his child's expression.

"Um, I need you to sign this, i-it's for school," Dick shoved the paper forward. He watched the dim glow from Bruce's eyes drop into complete sadness.

"Sure," Bruce said, somehow having the strength not to show that he was too hurt.

Dick handed him a pen, pointed out where the signature should be placed, then watched Bruce write it. "Thanks dad," he blurted as he turned to walk out. It wasn't disrespectful, but it did escape his lips.

Dick froze there, with his back turned on his father, who was tearing up at the title. Turning, Dick collapsed into Bruce's large arm, tears rolling down both of their cheeks.

"You're welcome..."


End file.
